


THIRTEEN: BOUND AND GAGGED

by roswyrm



Series: AND REMEMBER! BAD THINGS: WILL HAPPEN [6]
Category: Rusty Quill Gaming (Podcast)
Genre: Bad Things Happen Bingo, Gen, Implied/Referenced Torture, Near Death Experiences, Rescue Missions, basically after this zolf is fine and they cuddle and its Good, but ive got no spoons to write that so yk, i genuinely dont know how to tag this, im too tired to fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-01
Updated: 2019-09-01
Packaged: 2020-10-04 23:07:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20478971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roswyrm/pseuds/roswyrm
Summary: Written for deamoreau and the Bad Things Happen Bingo!





	THIRTEEN: BOUND AND GAGGED

Hamid forgets, sometimes?

It’s not easy to forget that his hands aren’t really his, or that his face is being stretched out by scales, or that the fire roiling in his chest hasn’t always been there. Hasn’t always been him. But he manages it, somehow, and it almost settles better across his skin than his normal form ever does.

Azu looks at him worriedly. Hamid ignores it. There’ll be time for concern later, he just– he needs to find Zolf. He needs to find Zolf, and pull him back into his hoard, and then everything will be better.

(If Hamid were to stop, were to think, he’d wonder when he started thinking of his friends as valuable things to possess. He doesn’t stop, of course, but he’ll be disgusted with himself once he’s forced to.)

It should be easier to remember that Hamid is only a little above three feet tall, and that he doesn’t have the leverage or the strength to rip the door off of its hinges. The door thunks against its frame without actually budging. Hamid growls. Azu pushes him out of the way and slams her axe into the handle so hard that it hits the ground with a bang, so loudly Hamid swears it thunders down the corridors in every direction. 

The door creaks open.  
Hamid rushes inside.  
Zolf doesn’t so much as look up at him.

He’s sitting in an odd-looking chair, thick ropes corded around his wrists and waist to tie him in place — he’s not blindfolded, but there’s a black mask drawn tight and unyielding across the bottom half of his face. Hamid doesn’t stop to wonder how long he’s been there, not when they’re so close to getting free. Hamid slices the gag off with a claw and sets to work on the ropes. “You’re going to be alright,” Hamid says, but it sounds far too much like there’s fire building in his throat for the words to be comforting. “Where’d they put the prosthetics?”

Zolf doesn’t answer. 

Hamid freezes, looks up, tilts Zolf by the chin so that their eyes meet. “Zolf?” Hamid asks, and the fire’s left his throat just like how the desire to hold onto every member of his hoard has left his bones, but there’s no recognition in his friend’s eyes. _“Zolf,”_ Hamid says again, louder, but nothing changes. “Oxygen deprivation,” Hamid realises, and the only thing in his throat is terror, “he’s– the gag—” Azu is beside him in an instant, and Hamid has to fight down panic and possessiveness as she Lays On Hands, one on Zolf’s chest and the other cradling the back of his head. It doesn’t work. It doesn’t _work,_ Zolf doesn’t take a sudden breath or blink back to consciousness, but Azu steps back, and Hamid has to cut the bonds as fast as he can so that Azu can carry him out, and the panic recedes into anger once more. He’s going to burn this entire building down.

“Hamid,” Azu says gently, and he realises his hands are shaking. One of the claws dug a little too deep, and the rope is cut, and a tiny track of blood wells up in its place.

“Sorry,” Hamid answers. They’re running out of time, and Hamid’s hands are still shaking as he gets the rest of the cords off. Azu lifts Zolf up, and there’s not any time, and Hamid looks up at her and says, “Get back to Cel. Good luck.” Azu must not see the fury in his eyes, the determination in the way his hands are balled up, the need to _ruin_ eclipsing any and all rational thought. She just nods and starts running to the rendezvous point. Hamid splits off, going back the way they came, fire singing in his blood.

Hamid forgets, sometimes, that he’s the son of a banker who studied at Cambridge and grew up with the finer things in life handed to him on a silver platter. Hamid forgets, sometimes, because it’s hard to remember being a scared halfling when he finds the people who did this and burns their oxygen away.

Hamid forgets, sometimes, that he needs just as much air as every other soft-bodied race, because dragons breathe _fire._


End file.
